


All Over Me

by PrettySami



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, ConHayth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettySami/pseuds/PrettySami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trade with Jenovasilver! </p><p> </p><p>  <i>"A HC fic! I want Connor savaged by some fucking templar I want daddy Kenway to save his boy even though Connor killed the man. Bloody noses! Bruises! Then they do it! In the butt!”</i></p><p> </p><p>The heart wants what the heart wants! After a traumatic experience Connor ends up staying with his dad for a little while. Relationships grow and sex is had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenovasilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenovasilver/gifts).



Connor was panting in the night air. His heart pounding in his ears as he leaped overturned carts and ducked under carriages to avoid the persistent Templar at his heels. He scrambled up the brick buildings, fingers still somewhat unfamiliar with the strange surfaces. 

This was meant to be a quick jaunt into the streets of Boston. A delivery for Achilles, nothing more. It had all gone awry when he’d drawn the unwanted attention of the Templar soldier. Connor couldn’t figure out for the life of him why though? He cast about as he stole around corners and past bustling shops, none of which adorned with a poster bearing his likeness. Not even the nearby town crier was saying a thing about a ‘young native.’

Ah, an open window. Connor dove through startling the inhabitant (a woman cradling a wailing baby) and exploded out the opposite window. He hit the ground in a roll and rounded one last corner to an alley to ensure he was hidden as he knelt to catch his breath.

Just like that, the wind was knocked out of him as a force slammed into him from above. Connor made to struggle but the templar leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Gotcha now, no need to struggle.”

Connor twisted but his hands were pinned behind his back, he could feel rope binding his wrists. “There now,” the Templar said and Connor felt him sit up, presumably to admire his handiwork. “That was a merry chase you sent me on! The boss weren’t lyin’! You’re right quick you are!” He chuckled and wrestled Connor over so that he was on his back. 

Connor saw this as a chance to spit in his attacker’s face. The Templar jerked away with a sound of disgust and immediately drew his fist back to deliver a blow to the teen’s unprotected face. Connor felt his teeth rattle as his head banged against the pavement. His vision swam and blood poured from his—thankfully unbroken—nose. He uttered a curse in Mohawk.

The Templar tugged Connor roughly to his feet pulling his hands high over his head. Connor guessed there had to be a hook or something there because suddenly his attackers two hands were free; one was gripping his hair and the other was cuffing his cheek. “Fiesty, ain’cha? Still…” the hand that hit him dragged Connor’s curtains of black hair out of his face uncovering the freckled hybrid skin beneath. “Th’ boss must see something in you. He might not mind…” 

The Templar seemed to be talking himself into something. “Nothin’ wrong with gettin’ a taste o’ wot you paid for…” The hand holding Connor’s hair traveled to his chin. From his haze Connor could tell something was about to happen, he just wasn’t sure what it was. It felt as though fingers were all over him, undoing lacings, popping buttons, the hands gave up at his pants and simply cut them away. “No,” Connor moaned and blood from his nose trickled down his lips. The sound of his own voice made his head pound. The Templar shushed him and ran fingers over the exposed flesh of his chest, fingering the nipples to their full hardness. No, but this was wrong. Something horribly wrong was happening. 

When the wet heat of a mouth closed over the side of his neck and the press of a fully hardened cock nudged at his belly Connor began to struggle anew. Hands were separating his legs. Greedy fingers searching for something…and they found it. The unwelcome finger jammed inside Connor forced more words of Mohawk from the boy’s unfettered lips but it wasn’t until he felt the press of something more, the push of something much larger and more lubricated than a finger did he seem to snap to his senses.

The man pulled back to grin at Connor who took the opportunity to smash his face into that of the Templar. Then in an amazing feat of flexibility, Connor kicked the man hard in the chin. He heard his skull crack as it hit the brick wall opposite them.

There was a repetitive dull thudding. The abrupt physically exertion of killing the man had been too much. The thudding grew louder…footsteps? Boots. Someone was coming closer…

“Hm…” the voice didn’t sound surprised and Connor could just make out a blurry patch of blue bending over the crumpled templar. “Well, really I suppose I should’ve come for you myself.” The voice’s English accent was tinged with exasperation and the face it belonged to came into focus for a moment.

“Father?” Connor whispered.

“So you know me? Let’s get you home,” Haytham was doing something to the bindings holding his arms over his head and Connor blearily thought, _home?_ as the world dissolved around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Haytham had to drag his cape over the boy’s partially naked form as he carried him, piggyback style, toward the large townhouse he had appropriated on the outskirts of Boston. The boy was light ( _wasn’t Achilles feeding him?_ ) he was too gangly in some places to be a child but to round in others to be a man. Let’s see, how many years ago had he seen Ziio…?

In his nostalgia, he nearly lost his footing on the fence he was running along and leapt to safety just in time. Connor—though jostled—was still unconscious. The dark haired head rested on Haytham’s shoulder. He took a moment to peer at the boy’s slack face. His hair was surprisingly clean and free of decoration save the braid that swayed while Haytham carried him; his skin tan and freckled. This was his son. He had the sudden wild impulse to embrace the child but ignored it, and continued on toward his home.

Upon their arrival, a maid greeted them at the door, offering to take Haytham’s cloak and starting when she saw the boy’s head lolling over his shoulder. She immediately began to fuss and tried to take him before the man shouted that Connor was his son and shooed the silly woman away.

Haytham carried his burden up the stairs to his personal chambers and deposited him onto his bed, taking a moment to stretch and remove his hat and coat. He then pulled the tattered remains of the boy’s clothing from his form. The idiot he’d sent to fetch his son had done a masterful job of making sure they were beyond repair. 

Haytham felt heat rising to his face. How lucky his lackey was that Connor had dispatched him. Because if Haytham would’ve caught him alive…

“Mmn...” Connor moaned as his father tugged away a scrap of fabric from under his thigh. He squirmed in his sleep. The boy was naked on Haytham’s bed and now he could feel heat rising in his face for quite a different reason…he shook his head as if to empty it of these thoughts. He went to the stand in the corner that held the water pitcher and basin. He wet a cloth and set about wiping off as much of the dirt and blood off of his son as he could; noting with some pride that it did not all belong to Connor. 

As the fabric was dragged over his skin, Connor continued to make little sounds and soon Haytham had to stop whether the boy was clean or not. He fished a night shirt from a drawer and dressed Connor in it. It was overlarge and slipped from his shoulder. His full lips parted obscenely. Haytham laid him back on the bed and leaned over to press their foreheads together. 

_This was his son._ He remembered how the half-lidded golden eyes alighted on him before they shut in the alley. He wondered if perhaps he should call a doctor but no, the boy’s head was cool, his breaths even.

Haytham pressed a kiss to the slightly parted lips and Connor’s eyes opened as he jerked awake.

His hands searched for a weapon that had been removed. Haytham pulled back raising his empty palms to show he meant no harm. But Connor’s fist caught him on the cheek, a glancing blow, and Haytham returned it out of pure habit. The older man quickly restrained the boy, trapping his arms behind his back and squeezing him in a bear hug hard enough to knock the wind out of him. 

“Put me down!” came the strangled gasp. His nose had begun bleeding again and a few red dots appeared on the collar of his father’s night shirt. Haytham made an irritated sound.

“I’ll put you down only if you stop struggling! You’ll aggravate your head wound!” indeed Connor was feeling dizzy and when his movements grew sluggish he was lowered once more to the bed. “It seems you know I am your father…”

“Some father,” he said with a scoff and raised his knees so that his legs were completely under the nightshirt. This left his ass-end almost completely exposed, for the boy wore no underwear.

“I came to your aid,” Haytham said, calm but defensive.

“Too late!” Connor snapped back. “You came to my aid too late!”

“I’m not so sure…” Haytham said with a pointed glance at his son’s behind. Connor blushed and tugged the shirt over his bits wiping his still bleeding nose on his sleeve.

“Are you not the one who sent that-that-!?”

“Yes, but not to rape you!” Haytham nearly shouted. In his passion he had jumped to his feet, almost upsetting the forgotten basin and towel. He returned them to their proper place with a sigh. “I wanted a look at you. Only a look.” He said over his shoulder.

Connor’s eyes grew round at the words and he absently lowered his feet back to the bed and sat up slowly. Haytham turned at the sound of the bed clothes rustling and saw the pouty yet resolute face. The golden eyes cast downward at nothing in particular. “Look then,” he said quietly.

Haytham did exactly that, taking in everything from the now tousled hair to the dusting of freckles including the ones on the exposed shoulder. His thighs and legs were just as bronze as the rest of him and smallish hands twisted the hem of the ruined night shirt. He blushed at the feeling of his body being inspected thusly.

The assassin turned templar couldn’t stifle a chuckle and Connor’s blush intensified. He turned his gaze onto his father once more. Haytham sat on the bed beside him, gathering the boy in his lap, and earning a surprised yelp for his efforts. He pulled his son close and smelled his skin, his hair. When Connor allowed himself to relax he did the same. He raised a curious hand and impetuously tugged the ribbon on Haytham's ponytail free and watched as the hair fell to frame the man’s face.

“What were you doing,” Connor whispered, not breaking eye contact with his father. “Earlier when I was asleep?”

“Only this,” Haytham butted his forehead to Connors like a cat would its master.

Connor leaned into the physical contact and shut his eyes. Without thinking he placed a kiss on his fathers’ nose. Haytham tilted his head back to capture the boy’s lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! Nekocon, Thor 2 and Thanksgiving got in the way!

Connor’s eyelids drooped at the feel of his father’s lips upon his own. “Mmn,” he breathed and threaded teenaged fingers through his father’s dark hair. 

“Ah,” Haytham whispered into the boy’s open mouth. “Ah, my Connor.” He could feel himself growing stiff. His cock was pressing through the laces of his breeches and into Connor’s thigh. The boy _had_ to feel it, _had_ to know. And sure enough, when he pushed himself closer to reach for more of his father’s kisses, Connor froze at the feeling of hardness rubbing against his bare bottom. The older man fought to stifle a tiny sigh, fingers tightening in his nightshirt.

Connor twisted suddenly to straddle and grind into his father. Haytham held him at the waist and the boy leaned back and stared down at their laps, panting open mouthed. Haytham tilted his son’s chin upward to look him in the eye and reclaim his kiss-bruised lips.

He then reached between them and undid his belt and the laces holding his breeches closed tugging himself free with an audible groan. Connor looked down once more and Haytham watched his eyes widen. He squirmed to get a better look and placed an inquisitive palm on the head of the thick flesh. He squeezed experimentally and drew a grunt from his father, who thrust lightly into his hand.

Connor’s own erection was tenting the nightshirt and he exposed himself gingerly. He pressed his now-leaking cock to Haytham’s and really this was just too much. The man lifted the boy suddenly and sat him on the edge of the bed. He pushed Connor back at the shoulder forcing him to prop himself up on his elbows to see what his father was doing. He had only a moment, however, before the older man took his length into his mouth – swallowing him in one go. Connor cried out and squeezed his thighs together involuntarily. 

Haytham cupped his hands around the tops of his son’s thighs and devoured him hungrily. Connor writhed under his father’s ministrations whining loudly and unbidden. Haytham didn’t bother shushing him, he was busy turning his son into a mewling mess with his talented tongue. His saliva ran down Connor’s balls and on to more sensitive areas and Haytham didn’t hesitate to drag his finger over Connor’s opening. The boy jerked but didn’t pull away. Good. Haytham was worried the earlier events would’ve made him sensitive to this…endeavor. Yet he still remained attentive, waiting to hear a ‘no’ or a ‘stop’.

Neither of which ever came. Connor sat up and buried himself ever deeper in his father’s warm slippery mouth. He dug his fingers into his hair and keened when he felt the tip of his cock tapping the back of Haytham’s throat. Haytham pushed a second finger into his son. _He was so tight._ He moaned at the mere thought of it and pulled his mouth away with a lewd sound. He glanced into Connor’s flushed face, taking in his tousled hair and the cinched up nightshirt. His mouth hung open and he breathed heavily squeezing his eyes shut when Haytham eased in yet another finger.

“Please,” Connor begged.

“What?” Haytham whispered, lazily drawing his tongue over Connor’s inner thigh. “Please what?”

“I don’t, I just—“ Connor pushed forward, fucking himself on Haytham’s fingers. The older man’s cock twitched at that. The flat expanse of the boy’s stomach tightened and a drop of precome drooled onto it. “Oh,” 

Haytham pulled his fingers from Connor then stood to disrobe properly. (He even draped his clothing over the back of a chair.) He pulled a small vial of oil from a desk drawer and when he turned to the boy he found him stroking himself lazily. 

Haytham kneeled over Connor and batted his hand away, one foot still on the floor. “Please,” Connor’s voice was equal parts whisper and whine. Haytham spread on a liberal amount of the delicately scented oil and butted his slick cock up to his son’s hole. 

“Please what?” he asked as he bent to pepper his freckled cheeks with kisses.

“Please, inside…” and honestly that was all he need say. Haytham pressed himself in as slowly as he could manage. Connor’s mouth opened in a silent cry as he arched off the bed. Haytham closed his eyes and pushed in a bit more, locking his mouth to his son’s. He really was trying to go slow. Really he was. But Connor’s ass was so tight he was surprised he hadn’t come already. “Relax,” he whispered into the kiss. Connor’s answering whine told him what he already knew, _“Easier said than done!”_ Haytham essentially crammed himself into his son and then pressed their foreheads together while he waited for Connor to adjust. 

The boy lifted his hips experimentally, pushing his father in deeper and almost causing him to cry out. Connor huffed a laugh into Haytham’s neck causing the man to raise a brow. This was the game they were playing, eh? Haytham angled his hips and tapped that sweet spot deep within the boy. And Connor _did_ cry out to his own chagrin.

Haytham started a slow agonizing pace, shuddering every time he pressed the tip of his cock into the bundle of nerves that made his son come apart beneath him. Connor was so loud now that Haytham was sure he’d woken the entire wait staff but he wasn’t entirely sure how much he cared. His vision was clouding as he neared his end but the boy beat him to the punch coming lousily and messily on Haytham’s chest and the nightshirt. The sight of him was enough for Haytham and he filled the boy so thoroughly that drops of come squeezed out around his softening manhood. He resisted the urge to flop down on his son in exhaustion. Instead he gently pulled himself out and rolled onto the bed beside Connor whose hand rested on his naked stomach.

Well, the lad really should stay for a few days, at least until he was back to his full health.


End file.
